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HIRA SINGH

WHEN INDIA CAME TO FIGHT IN FLANDERS

BY TALBOT MUNDY

Author of

King--of the Khyber Rifles, The Winds of the World, etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY J. CLEMENT COLL

PREFACE

I take leave to dedicate this book to Mr. Elmer Davis, through whosefriendly offices I was led to track down the hero of theseadventures and to find the true account of them even better than thedaily paper promised.

Had Ranjoor Singh and his men been Muhammadans their accomplishmentwould have been sufficiently wonderful. For Sikhs to attempt whatthey carried through, even under such splendid leadership as RanjoorSingh's, was to defy the very nth degree of odds. To have tried totell the tale otherwise than in Hira Singh's own words would havebeen to varnish gold. Amid the echoes of the roar of the guns inFlanders, the world is inclined to overlook India's share in it alland the stout proud loyalty of Indian hearts. May this tribute tothe gallant Indian gentlemen who came to fight our battles serve toremind its readers that they who give their best, and they who take,are one.

T. M.

One hundred Indian troops of the British Army have arrived at Kabul, Afghanistan, after a four months' march from Constantinople. The men were captured in Flanders by the Germans and were sent to Turkey in the hope that, being Mohammedans, they might join the Turks. But they remained loyal to Great Britain and finally escaped, heading for Afghanistan. They now intend to join their regimental depot in India, so it is reported.

New York Times, July, 1915

Hira Singh

CHAPTER I

Let a man, an arrow, and an answer each go straight. Each is his ownwitness. God is judge.--EASTERN PROVERB.

A Sikh who must have stood about six feet without his turban--andonly imagination knows how stately he was with it--loomed out of theviolet mist of an Indian morning and scrutinized me with calm browneyes. His khaki uniform, like two of the medal ribbons on hisbreast, was new, but nothing else about him suggested rawness.Attitude, grayness, dignity, the unstudied strength of hispoliteness, all sang aloud of battles won. Battles with himself theymay have been--but they were won.

I began remembering ice-polished rocks that the glaciers oncedropped along Maine valleys, when his quiet voice summoned me backto India and the convalescent camp beyond whose outer gate I stood.Two flags on lances formed the gate and the boundary line was mostlyimaginary; but one did not trespass, because at about the pointwhere vision no longer pierced the mist there stood a sentry, andthe grounding of a butt on gravel and now and then a cough announcedothers beyond him again.

"I have permission," I said, "to find a certain Risaldar-majorRanjoor Singh, and to ask him questions."

He smiled. His eyes, betraying nothing but politeness, read the verydepths of mine.

"Has the sahib credentials?" he asked. So I showed him the permitcovered with signatures that was the one scrap of writing left in mypossession after several searchings.

"Thank you," he said gravely. "There were others who had no permits.Will you walk with me through the camp?"

That was new annoyance, for with such a search as I had in mind whatinterest could there be in a camp for convalescent Sikhs? Tentspitched at intervals--a hospital marquee--a row of trees under whichsome of the wounded might sit and dream the day through-these wereall things one could imagine without journeying to India. But therewas nothing to do but accept, and I walked beside him, wishing Icould stride with half his grace.

"There are no well men here," he told me. "Even the heavy work aboutthe camp is done by convalescents."

"Then why are you here?" I asked, not trying to conceal admirationfor his strength and stature.

"I, too, am not yet quite recovered."

"From what?" I asked, impudent because I felt desperate. But I drewno fire.

"I do not know the English name for my complaint," he said. (But hespoke English better than I, he having mastered it, whereas I wasonly born to its careless use.)

"How long do you expect to remain on the sick list?" I asked,because a woman once told me that the way to make a man talk is toseem to be interested in himself.

"Who knows?" said he.

He showed me about the camp, and we came to a stand at last underthe branches of an enormous mango tree. Early though it was, a Sikhnon-commissioned officer was already sitting propped against thetrunk with his bandaged feet stretched out in front of him--apeculiar attitude for a Sikh.

"That one knows English," my guide said, nodding. And making me amost profound salaam, he added: "Why not talk with him? I haveduties. I must go."

The officer turned away, and I paid him the courtesy due from oneman to another. It shall always be a satisfying memory that I raisedmy hat to him and that he saluted me.

"What is that officer's name?" I asked, and the man on the groundseemed astonished that I did not know.

"Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh bahadur!" he said.

For a second I was possessed by the notion of running after him,until I recalled that he had known my purpose from the first andthat therefore his purpose must have been deliberate. Obviously, Iwould better pursue the opportunity that in his own way He had givenme.

"What is your name?" I asked the man on the ground.

"Hira Singh," he answered, and at that I sat down beside him. For Ihad also heard of Hira Singh.

He made quite a fuss at first because, he said, the dusty earthbeneath a tree was no place for a sahib. But suddenly he jumped tothe conclusion I must be American, and ceased at once to be troubledabout my dignity. On the other hand, he grew perceptibly lessdistant. Not more friendly, perhaps, but less guarded.

"You have talked with Sikhs in California?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Then you have heard lies, sahib. I know the burden of their song. Abad Sikh and a bad Englishman alike resemble rock torn loose. Thegreater the height from which they fall, the deeper they dive intothe mud. Which is the true Sikh, he who marched with us or he whoabuses us? Yet I am told that in America men believe what hiredSikhs write for the German papers.

"No man hired me, sahib, although one or two have tried. When I cameof age I sought acceptance in the army, and was chosen among many.When my feet are healed I shall return to duty. I am a true Sikh. Ifthe sahib cares to listen, I will tell him truth that has not beenwritten in the papers."

So, having diagnosed my nationality and need, he proceeded to tellme patiently things that many English are in the dark about, bothbecause of the censorship and because of the prevailing superstitionthat the English resent being told--he stabbing and sweeping at thedust with a broken twig and making little heaps and dents by way ofillustration,--I sitting silent, brushing away the flies.

Day after day I sought him soon after dawn when they were rolling upthe tent-flaps. I shared the curry and chapatties that a trooperbrought to him at noon, and I fetched water for him to drink fromtime to time. It was dusk each day before I left him, so that, whatwith his patience and my diligence, I have been able to set down thestory as he told it, nearly in his own words.

But of Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh bahadur in the flesh, I have nothad another glimpse. I went in search of him the very first evening,only to learn that he had "passed his medical" that afternoon andhad returned at once to active service.

* * * * * * *

We Sikhs have a proverb, sahib, that the ruler and the ruled areone. That has many sides to it of which one is this: India havingmany moods and minds, the British are versatile. Not altogetherwise, for who is? When, for instance, did India make an end ofwooing foolishness? Since the British rule India, they may wear herflowers, but they drink her dregs. They may bear her honors, but herblame as well. As the head is to the body, the ruler and the ruledare one.

Yet, as I understand it, when this great war came there wasdisappointment in some quarters and surprise in others because we,who were known not to be contented, did not rise at once inrebellion. To that the answer is faith finds faith. It is the greatgift of the British that they set faith in the hearts of other men.

There were dark hours, sahib, before it was made known that therewas war. The censorship shut down on us, and there were a thousandrumors for every one known fact. There had come a sudden swarm ofSikhs from abroad, and of other men--all hirelings--who talked muchabout Germany and a change of masters. There were dark sayings, andarrests by night. Men with whom we talked at dusk had disappeared atdawn. Ranjoor Singh, not yet bahadur but risaldar-major, commandingSquadron D of my regiment, Outram's Own, became very busy in thebazaars; and many a night I followed him, not always with hisknowledge. I intended to protect him, but I also wished to know whatthe doings were.

There was a woman. Did the sahib ever hear of a plot that had not awoman in it? He went to the woman's house. In hiding, I heard hersneer at him. I heard her mock him. I would have doubted him foreverif I had heard her praise him, but she did not, and I knew him to bea true man.

Ours is more like the French than the British system; there is moreintercourse between officer and non-commissioned officer and man.But Ranjoor Singh is a silent man, and we of his squadron, though werespected him, knew little of what was in his mind. When there beganto be talk about his knowing German, and about his secrecy, andabout his nights spent at HER place, who could answer? We all knewhe knew German.

There were printed pamphlets from God-knows-where, and letters fromAmerica, that made pretense at explanations; and there were spieswho whispered. My voice, saying I had listened and seen and that Itrusted, was as a quail's note when the monsoon bursts. None heard.So that in the end I held my tongue. I even began to doubt.

Then a trooper of ours was murdered in the bazaar, and RanjoorSingh's servant disappeared. Within an hour Ranjoor Singh was gone,too.

Then came news of war. Then our officers came among us to askwhether we are willing or not to take a hand in this great quarrel.Perhaps in that hour if they had not asked us we might have judgedthat we and they were not one after all.

But they did ask, and let a man, an arrow, and an answer each gostraight, say we. Our Guru tells us Sikhs should fight ever on theside of the oppressed; the weaker the oppressed, the more the reasonfor our taking part with them. Our officers made no secret about thestrength of the enemy, and we made none with them of our feeling inthe matter. They were proud men that day. Colonel Kirby was a veryproud man. We were prouder than he, except when we thought ofRanjoor Singh.

Then, as it were out of the night itself, there came a message byword of mouth from Ranjoor Singh saying he will be with us beforethe blood shall run. We were overjoyed at that, and talked about itfar into the night; yet when dawn had come doubt again had hold ofus, and I think I was the only Sikh in the regiment ready to swearto his integrity. Once, at least a squadron of us had loved him tothe death because we thought him an example of Sikh honor. Now onlyI and our British officers believed in him.

We are light cavalry. We were first of all the Indian regiments toride out of Delhi and entrain at a station down the line. That wasan honor, and the other squadrons rode gaily, but D Squadron hungits head. I heard men muttering in the ranks and some I rebuked tosilence, but my rebukes lightened no man's heart. In place ofRanjoor Singh rode Captain Fellowes, promoted from another squadron,and noticing our lack of spirit, he did his best to inspire us withfine words and manly bearing; but we felt ashamed that our own Sikhmajor was not leading us, and did not respond to encouragement.

Yet when we rode out of Delhi Gate it was as if a miracle tookplace. A stiffening passed along the squadron. A trooper caughtsight of Ranjoor Singh standing beside some bullock carts, andpassed the word. I, too, saw him. He was with a Muhammadan bunnia,and was dressed to resemble one himself.

The trooper who was first to see him--a sharp-eyed man--he died atYpres--Singh means lion, sahib--now recognized the man who stoodwith him. "That bunnia," said he, "is surely none other than theEuropean who gave us the newspaper clippings about Sikhs not allowedto land in Canada. See--he is disguised like a fool. Are the policeasleep," said he, "that such thieves dare sun themselves?"

It was true enough, sahib. The man in disguise was German, and weremembered again that Ranjoor Singh knew German. From that moment werode like new men--I, too, although I because I trusted RanjoorSingh now more than ever; they, because they trusted no longer atall, and he can shoulder what seem certainties whom doubt unmans. Noword, but a thought that a man could feel passed all down the line,that whatever our officer might descend to being, the rank and filewould prove themselves faithful to the salt. Thenceforward there wasnothing in our bearing to cause our officers anxiety.

You might wonder, sahib, why none broke ranks to expose both men onthe spot. I did not because I trusted Ranjoor Singh. I reasoned hewould never have dared be seen by us if he truly were a traitor. Itseemed to me I knew how his heart must burn to be riding with us.They did not because they would not willingly have borne the shame.I tell no secret when I say there has been treason in the Punjab;the whole world knows that. Yet few understand that the cloak underwhich it all made headway was the pride of us true ones, who wouldnot own to treason in our midst. Pride and the shadow of shame areone, sahib, but who believes it until the shame bears fruit?

Before the last squadron had ridden by, Captain Warrington, ouradjutant, also caught sight of Ranjoor Singh. He spurred afterColonel Kirby, and Colonel Kirby came galloping back; but before hecould reach Delhi Gate Ranjoor Singh had disappeared and D Squadronwas glad to the last man.

"Let us hope he may die like a rat in a hole and bring no more shameon us!" said Gooja Singh, and many assented.

"He said he will be with us before the blood shall run!" said I.

"Then we know whose blood shall run first!" said the trooper nearestme, and those who heard him laughed. So I held my tongue. There isno need of argument while a man yet lives to prove himself. I hadcharge of the party that burned that trooper's body. He was one ofthe first to fall after we reached France.

Colonel Kirby, looking none too pleased, came trotting back to us,and we rode on. And we entrained. Later on we boarded a great shipin Bombay harbor and put to sea, most of us thinking by that time offamilies and children, and some no doubt of money-lenders who mightforeclose on property in our absence, none yet suspecting that thegovernment will take steps to prevent that. It is not only theBritish officer, sahib, who borrows money at high interest lest hisshabbiness shame the regiment.

We were at sea almost before the horses were stalled properly, andpresently there were officers and men and horses all sick togetherin the belly of the ship, with chests and bales and barrels brokenloose among us. The this-and-that-way motion of the ship causedhorses to fall down, and men were too sick to help them up again. Imyself lay amid dung like a dead man--yet vomiting as no dead manever did--and saw British officers as sick as I laboring liketroopers. There are more reasons than one why we Sikhs respect ourBritish officers.

The coverings of the ship were shut tight, lest the waves descendamong us. The stench became worse than any I had ever known,although I learned to know a worse one later; but I will speak ofthat at the proper time. It seemed to us like a poor beginning andthat thought put little heart in us.

But the sickness began to lessen after certain days, and as themovements grew easier the horses were able to stand. Then we becamehungry, who had thought we would never wish to eat again, and doublerations were served out to compensate for days when we had eatennothing. Then a few men sought the air, and others--I among them--went out of curiosity to see why the first did not return. So, firstby dozens and then by hundreds, we went and stood full of wonder,holding to the bulwark for the sake of steadiness.

It may be, sahib, that if I had the tongue of a woman and of apriest and of an advocate--three tongues in one--I might then tellthe half of what there was to wonder at on that long journey. Surelynot otherwise. Being a soldier, well trained in all subjectsbecoming to a horseman but slow of speech, I can not tell thehundredth part.

We--who had thought ourselves alone in all the sea--were but oneship among a number. The ships proceeded after this manner--see, Idraw a pattern--with foam boiling about each. Ahead of us were manyships bearing British troops--cavalry, infantry and guns. To ourright and left and behind us were Sikh, Gurkha, Dogra, Pathan,Punjabi, Rajput--many, many men, on many ships. Two and thirty shipsI counted at one time, and there was the smoke of others over thesky-line!

Above the bulwark of each ship, all the way along it, thus, was aline of khaki. Ahead of us that was helmets. To our right and leftand behind us it was turbans. The men of each ship wondered at allthe others. And most of all, I think, we wondered at the great graywar-ships plunging in the distance; for none knew whence they hadcome; we saw none in Bombay when we started. It was not a sight forthe tongue to explain, sahib, but for a man to carry in his heart. Asight never to be forgotten. I heard no more talk about a poorbeginning.

We came to Aden, and stopped to take on coal and water. There was nosign of excitement there, yet no good news. It was put in Orders ofthe Day that the Allies are doing as well as can be expected pendingarrival of re-enforcements; and that is not the way winners speak.Later, when we had left Aden behind, our officers came down among usand confessed that all did not go well. We said brave things toencourage them, for it is not good that one's officers should doubt.If a rider doubts his horse, what faith shall the horse have in hisrider? And so it is with a regiment and its officers.

After some days we reached a narrow sea--the Red Sea, men call it,although God knows why--a place full of heat and sand-storms, shutin on either hand by barren hills. There was no green thing any-where. There we passed islands where men ran down to the beach toshout and wave helmets--unshaven Englishmen, who trim the lights. Itmust have been their first intimation of any war. How else can theyhave known of it? We roared back to them, all of the men on all ofthe ships together, until the Red Sea was the home of thunder, andour ships' whistles screamed them official greeting through the din.I spent many hours wondering what those men's thoughts might be.

Never was such a sight, sahib! Behind our ships was darkness, forthe wind was from the north and the funnels belched forth smoke thattrailed and spread. I watched it with fascination until one dayGooja Singh came and watched beside me near the stern. His rank wasthe same as mine, although I was more than a year his senior. Therewas never too much love between us. Step by step I earned promotionfirst, and he was jealous. But on the face of thing's we werefriends. Said he to me after a long time of gazing at the smoke, "Ithink there is a curtain drawn. We shall never return by that road!"

I laughed at him. "Look ahead!" said I. "Let us leave our rear tothe sweepers and the crows!"

Nevertheless, what he had said remained in my mind, as the way ofdark sayings is. Yet why should the word of a fool have the weightof truth? There are things none can explain. He proved right in theend, but gained nothing. Behold me; and where is Gooja Singh? I madeno prophecy, and he did. Can the sahib explain?

Day after day we kept overtaking other ships, most of them hurryingthe same way as ourselves. Not all were British, but the crews allcheered us, and we answered, the air above our heads alive withwaving arms and our trumpets going as if we rode to the king ofEngland's wedding. If their hearts burned as ours did, the crews ofthose ships were given something worth remembering.

We passed one British ship quite close, whose captain was an elderlyman with a gray beard. He so waved his helmet that it slipped fromhis grasp and went spinning into the sea. When we lost him in oursmoke his crew of Chinese were lowering a boat to recover thehelmet. We heard the ships behind us roaring to him. Strange that Ishould wonder to this day whether those Chinese recovered thehelmet! It looked like a good new one. I have wondered about it onthe eve of action, and in the trenches, and in the snow on outpostduty. I wonder about it now. Can the sahib tell me why an old man'shelmet should be a memory, when so much that was matter of life anddeath has gone from mind? I see that old man and his helmet now, yetI forget the feel of Flanders mud.

We reached Suez, and anchored there. At Suez lay many ships in frontof us, and a great gray battle-ship saluted us with guns, we allstanding to attention while our ensigns dipped. I thought it strangethat the battle-ship should salute us first, until I recalled howwhen I was a little fellow I once saw a viceroy salute mygrandfather. My grandfather was one of those Sikhs who marched tohelp the British on the Ridge at Delhi when the British cause seemedlost. The British have long memories for such things.

Later there came an officer from the battle-ship and there was hotargument on our upper bridge. The captain of our ship grew veryangry, but the officer from the battle-ship remained polite, andpresently he took away with him certain of our stokers. The captainof our ship shouted after him that there were only weaklings anddevil's leavings left, but later we discovered that was not true.

We fretted at delay at Suez. Ships may only enter the canal one byone, and while we waited some Arabs found their way on board from asmall boat, pretending to sell fruit and trinkets. They assured usthat the French and British were already badly beaten, and thatBelgium had ceased to be. To test them, we asked where Belgium was,and they did not know; but they swore it had ceased to be. Theyadvised us to mutiny and refuse to go on to our destruction.

They ought to have been arrested, but we were enraged and drove themfrom the ship with blows. We upset their little boat by hauling atthe rope with which they had made it fast, and they were forced toswim for shore. One of them was taken by a shark, which weconsidered an excellent omen, and the others were captured as theyswam and taken ashore in custody.

I think others must have visited the other ships with similar talesto tell, because after that, sahib, there was something such as Ithink the world never saw before that day. In that great fleet ofships we were men of many creeds and tongues--Sikh, Muhammadan,Dorga, Gurkha (the Dogra and Gurkha be both Hindu, though ofdifferent kinds), Jat, Punjabi, Rajput, Guzerati, Pathan, Mahratta--who can recall how many! No one language could have sufficed toexplain one thought to all of us--no, nor yet ten languages! No wordpassed that my ear caught. Yet, ship after ship became aware ofcloser unity.

All on our knees on all the ships together we prayed thereafterthrice a day, our British officers standing bareheaded beneath theupper awnings, the chin-strap marks showing very plainly on theircheeks as the way of the British is when they feel emotion. Weprayed, sahib, lest the war be over before we could come and do ourshare. I think there was no fear in all that fleet except the fearlest we come too late. A man might say with truth that we prayed tomore gods than one, but our prayer was one. And we received oneanswer.

One morning our ship got up anchor unexpectedly and began to enterthe canal ahead of all the ships bearing Indian troops. The men onthe other ships bayed to us like packs of wolves, in part to giveencouragement but principally jealous. We began to expect to seeFrance now at any minute--I, who can draw a map of the world and setthe chief cities in the proper place, being as foolish as the rest.There lay work as well as distance between us and France.

We began to pass men laboring to make the canal banks ready againstattack, but mostly they had no news to give us. Yet at one place,where we tied to the bank because of delay ahead, a man shouted froma sand-dune that the kaiser of Germany has turned Muhammadan and nowsummons all Islam to destroy the French and British. Doubtless hemistook us for Muhammadans, being neither the first nor the last tomake that mistake.

So we answered him we were on our way to Berlin to teach the kaiserhis new creed. One man threw a lump of coal at him and hedisappeared, but presently we heard him shouting to the men on theship behind. They truly were Muhammadans, but they jeered at him asloud as we.

After that our officers set us to leading horses up and down thedeck in relays, partly, no doubt, to keep us from talking with othermen on shore, but also for the horses' sake. I remember how fliescame on board and troubled the horses very much. At sea we hadforgotten there were such things as flies, and they left us againwhen we left the canal.

At Port Said, which looks like a mean place, we stopped again forcoal. Naked Egyptians--big black men, as tall as I and as straight--carried it up an inclined plank from a float and cast it bybasketfuls through openings in the ship's side. We made up a purseof money for them, both officers and men contributing, and I wastold there was a coaling record broken.

After that we steamed at great speed along another sea, one ship ata time, just as we left the canal, our ship leading all those thatbore Indian troops. And now there were other war-ships--little ones,each of many funnels--low in the water, yet high at the nose--mostswift, that guarded us on every hand, coming and going as the sharksdo when they search the seas for food.

A wonder of a sight, sahib! Blue water--blue water--bluest ever Isaw, who have seen lake water in the Hills! And all the shipsbelching black smoke, and throwing up pure white foam--and the lastship so far behind that only masts and smoke were visible above thesky-line--but more, we knew, behind that again, and yet more coming!I watched for hours at a stretch without weariness, and thoughtagain of Ranjoor Singh. Surely, thought I, his three campaignsentitled him to this. Surely he was a better man than I. Yet herewas I, and no man knew where he was. But when I spoke of RanjoorSingh men spat, so I said nothing.

After a time I begged leave to descend an iron ladder to the bowelsof the ship, and I sat on the lowest rung watching the Britishfiremen at the furnaces. They cursed me in the name of God, theirteeth and the whites of their eyes gleaming, but their skin black asnight with coal dust. The sweat ran down in rivers between ridges ofgrime on the skin of their naked bellies. When a bell rang and thefire doors opened they glowed like pictures I have seen of devils.They were shadows when the doors clanged shut again. Consideringthem, I judged that they and we were one.

I climbed on deck again and spoke to a risaldar. He spoke to ColonelKirby. Watching from below, I saw Colonel Kirby nod--thus, like abird that takes an insect; and he went and spoke to the captain ofthe ship. Presently there was consultation, and a call forvolunteers. The whole regiment responded. None, however, gave mecredit for the thought. I think that risaldar accepted praise forit, but I have had no opportunity to ask him. He died in Flanders.

We went down and carried coal as ants that build a hill, piling iton the iron floor faster than the stokers could use it, toilingnearly naked like them lest we spoil our uniforms. We grew grimy,but the ship shook, and the water boiled behind us. None of theother ships was able to overtake us, although we doubted not theyall tried.

There grew great good will between us and the stokers. We wereclumsy from inexperience, and they full of laughter at us, but eachjudged the spirit with which the other labored. Once, where I stooddirecting near the bunker door, two men fell on me and covered mewith coal. The stokers laughed and I was angry. I had hot wordsready on my tongue, but a risaldar prevented me.

"This is their trade, not ours," said he. "Look to it lest any laughat us when the time for our own trade comes!" I judged that wellspoken, and remembered it.

There came at last a morning when the sun shone through jeweledmist--a morning with scent in it that set the horses in the hold tosnorting--a dawn that smiled, as if the whole universe in truth wereGod's. A dawn, sahib, such as a man remembers to judge other dawnsby. That day we came in sight of France.

Doubtless you suppose we cheered when we saw Marseilles at last. YetI swear to you we were silent. We were disappointed because we couldsee no enemy and hear no firing of great guns! We made no morecommotion than the dead while our ship steamed down the long harborentrance, and was pushed and pulled by little tugs round a corner toa wharf. A French war-ship and some guns in a fort saluted us, andour ship answered; but on shore there seemed no excitement and ourhearts sank. We thought that for all our praying we had come toolate.

But the instant they raised the gangway a French officer and severalBritish officers came running up it, and they all talked earnestlywith Colonel Kirby on the upper bridge--we watching as if we had butan eye and an ear between us. Presently all our officers weresummoned and told the news, and without one word being said to anyof us we knew there was neither peace as yet, nor any surpassingvictory fallen to our side. So then instantly we all began to speakat once, even as apes do when sudden fear has passed.

There were whole trains of trucks drawn up in the street beside thedock and we imagined we were to be hurried at once toward thefighting. But not so, for the horses needed rest and exercise andproper food before they could be fit to carry us. Moreover, therewere stores to be offloaded from the ships, we having brought withus many things that it would not be so easy to replace in a land atwar. Whatever our desire, we were forced to wait, and when we hadleft the ship we were marched through the streets to a camp somelittle distance out along the Estagus Road. Later in the day, andthe next day, and the next, infantry from the other ships followedus, for they, too, had to wait for their stores to be offloaded.

The French seemed surprised to see us. They were women and childrenfor the most part, for the grown men had been called up. In ourcountry we greet friends with flowers, but we had been led tobelieve that Europe thinks little of such manners. Yet the Frenchthrew flowers to us, the little children bringing arms full andbaskets full.

Thenceforward, day after day, we rode at exercise, keeping ears andeyes open, and marveling at France. No man complained, although ourvery bones ached to be on active service. And no man spoke ofRanjoor Singh, who should have led D Squadron. Yet I believe therewas not one man in all D Squadron but thought of Ranjoor Singh allthe time. He who has honor most at heart speaks least about it. Inone way shame on Ranjoor Singh's account was a good thing, for itmade the whole regiment watchful against treachery.

Treachery, sahib--we had yet to learn what treachery could be!Marseilles is a half-breed of a place, part Italian, part French.The work was being chiefly done by the Italians, now that all able-bodied Frenchmen were under arms. And Italy not yet in the war!

Sahib, I swear to you that all the spies in all the world seemed atthat moment to be Italian, and all in Marseilles at once! There werespies among the men who brought our stores. Spies who brought thehay. Spies among the women who walked now and then through our linesto admire, accompanied by officers who were none too wide-awake ifthey were honest. You would not believe how many pamphlets reachedus, printed in our tongue and some of them worded very cunningly.

There were men who could talk Hindustanee who whispered to us tosurrender to the Germans at the first opportunity, promising in thatcase that we shall be well treated. The German kaiser, these menassured us, had truly turned Muhammadan; as if that were anything toSikhs, unless perhaps an additional notch against him! I was toldthey mistook the Muhammadans in another camp for Sikhs, and werespat on for their pains!

Nor were all the spies Italians, after all. Our hearts went out tothe French. We were glad to be on their side--glad to help themdefend their country. I shall be glad to my dying day that I havestruck a blow for France. Yet the only really dangerous man of allwho tried to corrupt us in Marseilles was a French officer of therank of major, who could speak our tongue as well as I. He said withsorrow that the French were already as good as vanquished, and thathe pitied us as lambs sent to the slaughter. The part, said he, ofevery wise man was to go over to the enemy before the day shouldcome for paying penalties.

I told what he had said to me to a risaldar, and the risaldar spokewith Colonel Kirby. We heard--although I do not know whether it istrue or not--that the major was shot that evening with his face to awall. I do know that I, in company with several troopers, was cross-examined by interpreters that day in presence of Colonel Kirby and aFrench general and some of the general's staff.

There began to be talk at last about Ranjoor Singh. I heard men sayit was no great wonder, after all, that he should have turnedtraitor, for it was plain he must have been tempted cunningly. Yetthere was no forgiveness for him. They grew proud that where he hadfailed they could stand firm; and there is no mercy in proud men'sminds--nor much wisdom either.

At last a day came--too soon for the horses, but none too soon forus--when we marched through the streets to entrain for the front. Aswe had marched first out of Delhi, so we marched first fromMarseilles now. Only the British regiments from India were on aheadof us; we led the Indian-born contingent.

French wives and children, and some cripples, lined the streets tocheer and wave their handkerchiefs. We were on our way to help theirhusbands defend France, and they honored us. It was our due. But canthe sahib accept his due with a dry eye and a word in his throat?Nay! It is only ingratitude that a man can swallow unconcerned. Noman spoke. We rode like graven images, and I think the French womenwondered at our silence. I know that I, for one, felt extremelywilling to die for France; and I thought of Ranjoor Singh and of howhis heart, too, would have burned if he had been with us. With suchthoughts as swelled in my own breast, it was not in me to believehim false, whatever the rest might think.

D Squadron proved in good fortune that day, for they gave us a trainof passenger coaches with seats, and our officers had a first-classcoach in front. The other squadrons, and most of the otherregiments, had to travel in open trucks, although I do not think anygrumbled on that score. There was a French staff officer to eachtrain, and he who rode in our train had an orderly who knew English;the orderly climbed in beside me and we rode miles together, talkingall the time, he surprising me vastly more than I him. We exchangedinformation as two boys that play a game--I a move, then he a move,then I again, then he.

The game was at an end when neither could think of another questionto ask; but he learned more than I. At the end I did not yet knowwhat his religion was, but he knew a great deal about mine. On theother hand, he told me all about their army and its closeassociation between officers and men, and all the news he had aboutthe fighting (which was not so very much), and what he thought ofthe British. He seemed to think very highly of the British, ratherto his own surprise.

He told me he was a pastry cook by trade, and said he could cookchapatties such as we eat; and he understood my explanation whySikhs were riding in the front trains and Muhammadans behind--because Muhammadans must pray at fixed intervals and the trains muststop to let them do it. He understood wherein our Sikh prayerdiffers from that of Islam. Yet he refused to believe I am nopolygamist. But that is nothing. Since then I have fought in atrench beside Englishmen who spoke of me as a savage; and I haveseen wounded Germans writhe and scream because their officers hadtold them we Sikhs would eat them alive. Yes, sahib; not once, butmany times.

The journey was slow, for the line ahead of us was choked withsupply trains, some of which were needed at the front as badly asourselves. Now and then trains waited on sidings to let us by, andby that means we became separated from the other troop trains, ourregiment leading all the others in the end by almost half a day. Thedin of engine whistles became so constant that we no longer noticedit.

But there was another din that did not grow familiar. Along the linenext ours there came hurrying in the opposite direction train aftertrain of wounded, traveling at great speed, each leaving a smell inits wake that set us all to spitting. And once in so often therecame a train filled full of the sound of screaming. The first time,and the second time we believed it was ungreased axles, but afterthe third time we understood.

Then our officers came walking along the footboards, speaking to usthrough the windows and pretending to point out characteristics ofthe scenery; and we took great interest in the scenery, asking themthe names of places and the purposes of things, for it is not goodthat one's officers should be other than arrogantly confident.

We were a night and a day, and a night and a part of a day on thejourney, and men told us later we had done well to cross the lengthof France in that time, considering conditions. On the morning ofthe last day we began almost before it was light to hear the firingof great guns and the bursting of shells--like the thunder of thesurf on Bombay Island in the great monsoon--one roar withoutintermission, yet full of pulsation.

I think it was midday when we drew up at last on a siding, where aFrench general waited with some French and British officers. ColonelKirby left the train and spoke with the general, and then gave theorder for us to detrain at once; and we did so very swiftly, men,and horses, and baggage. Many of us were men of more than onecampaign, able to judge by this and by that how sorely we wereneeded. We knew what it means when the reenforcements look fit forthe work in hand. The French general came and shook hands again withColonel Kirby, and saluted us all most impressively.

We were spared all the business of caring for our own baggage andsent away at once. With a French staff officer to guide us, we rodeaway at once toward the sound of firing--at a walk, because withinreasonable limits the farther our horses might be allowed to walknow the better they would be able to gallop with us later.

We rode along a road between straight trees, most of them scarred byshell-fire. There were shell-holes in the road, some of which hadbeen filled with the first material handy, but some had to beavoided. We saw no dead bodies, nor even dead horses, althoughsmashed gun-carriages and limbers and broken wagons were everywhere.

To our right and left was flat country, divided by low hedges andthe same tall straight trees; but far away in front was a forest,whose top just rose above the sky-line. As we rode toward that wecould see the shells bursting near it.

Between us and the forest there were British guns, dug in; and awayto our right were French guns--batteries and batteries of them. Andbetween us and the guns were great receiving stations for thewounded, with endless lines of stretcher-bearers like ants passingto and fro. By the din we knew that the battle stretched far awaybeyond sight to right and left of us.

Many things we saw that were unexpected. The speed of the artilleryfire was unbelievable. But what surprised all of us most was theabsence of reserves. Behind the guns and before the guns we passedmany a place where reserves might have sheltered, but there werenone.

There came two officers, one British and one French, gallopingtoward us. They spoke excitedly with Colonel Kirby and our Frenchstaff officer, but we continued at a walk and Colonel Kirby lit afresh cheroot. After some time there came an aeroplane with a greatsquare cross painted on its under side, and we were ordered to haltand keep quite still until it went away. When it was too far awayfor its man to distinguish us we began to trot at last, but it wasgrowing dusk when we halted finally behind the forest--dusky andcloudy, the air full of smoke from the explosions, ill-smelling anddifficult to breathe. During the last three-quarters of a mile theshells had been bursting all about us, but we had only lost one manand a horse--and the man not killed.

As it grew darker the enemy sent up star-shells, and by their lightwe could sometimes see as plainly as by daylight. British infantrywere holding the forest in front of us and a road that ran to rightof it. Their rifle-fire was steady as the roll of drums. These werenot the regiments that preceded us from India; they had been sent toanother section of the battle. These were men who had been in thefighting from the first, and their wounded and the stretcher-bearerswere surprised to see us. No word of our arrival seemed to reach thefiring line as yet. Men were too busy to pass news.

Over our heads from a mile away, the British and French artillerywere sending a storm, of shells, and the enemy guns were answeringtwo for one. And besides that, into the forest, and into the trenchto the right of it that was being held by the British infantry therewas falling such a cataract of fire that it was not possible tobelieve a man could live. Yet the answering rifle-fire never pausedfor a second.

I learned afterward the name of the regiment in the end of thetrench nearest us. With these two eyes in the Hills I once saw thatsame regiment run like a thousand hares into the night, because ithad no supper and a dozen Afridi marksmen had the range. Can thesahib explain? I think I can. A man's spirit is no more in his bellythan in the cart that carries his belongings; yet, while he thinksit is, his enemies all flourish.

We dismounted to rest the horses, and waited behind the forest untilit grew so dark that between the bursting of the star-shells a mancould not see his hand held out in front of him. Now and then astray shell chanced among us, but our casualties were very few. Iwondered greatly at the waste of ammunition. My ears ached with thedin, but there seemed more noise wrought than destruction. We hadbegun to grow restless when an officer came galloping at last toColonel Kirby's side and gave him directions with much pointing andwaving of the arm.

Then Colonel Kirby summoned all our officers, and they rode back totell us what the plan was. The din was so great by this time thatthey were obliged to explain anew to each four men in turn. This wasthe plan:

The Germans, ignorant of our arrival, undoubtedly believed theBritish infantry to be without support and were beginning to pressforward in the hope of winning through to the railway line. Theinfantry on our right front, already overwhelmed by weight ofartillery fire, would be obliged to evacuate their trench and fallback, thus imperiling the whole line, unless we could save the day.

Observe this, sahib: so--I make a drawing in the dust. Between thetrench here, and the forest there, was a space of level ground somefifty or sixty yards wide. There was scarcely more than a furrowacross it to protect the riflemen--nothing at all that could stop ahorse. At a given signal the infantry were to draw aside from thatpiece of level land, like a curtain drawn back along a rod, and wewere to charge through the gap thus made between them and theforest. The shock of our charge and its unexpectedness were to serveinstead of numbers.

Fine old-fashioned tactics, sahib, that suited our mind well! Therehad been plenty on the voyage, including Gooja Singh, who argued weshould all be turned into infantry as soon as we arrived, and we haddreaded that. Each to his own. A horseman prefers to fight onhorseback with the weapons that he knows.

Perhaps the sahib has watched Sikh cavalry at night and wondered howso many men and horses could keep so still. We had made but littlenoise hitherto, but now our silence was that of night itself. We hadbut one eye, one ear, one intellect among us. We were one! One withthe night and with the work ahead!

One red light swinging near the corner of the forest was to mean BEREADY! We were ready as the fuse is for the match! Two red lightswould mean that the sidewise movement by the infantry was under way.Three lights swinging together were to be our signal to begin.Sahib, I saw three red lights three thousand times between eachminute and the next!

The shell-fire increased from both sides. Where the British infantrylay was such a lake of flame and din that the very earth seemed toburst apart; yet the answering rifle-fire was steady--steady as theroll of drums. Then we truly saw one red light, and "EK!" said weall at once. EK means ONE, sahib, but it sounded like the opening ofa breech-block. "Mount!" ordered Colonel Kirby, and we mounted.

While I held my breath and watched for the second light I heard anew noise behind me, different from the rest, and therefore audible--a galloping horse and a challenge close at hand. I saw in the lightof a bursting shell a Sikh officer, close followed by a trooper on ablown horse. I saw the officer ride to Colonel Kirby's side, rein inhis charger, and salute. At that instant there swung two red lights,and "DO!" said the regiment. DO means TWO, sahib, but it soundedlike the thump of ordnance. "Draw sabers!" commanded Colonel Kirby,and the rear ranks drew. The front-rank men had lances.

By the light of a star-shell I could plainly see the Sikh officerand trooper. I recognized the charger--a beast with the devil in himand the speed of wind. I recognized both men. I thought a shell musthave struck me. I must be dead and in a new world. I let my horseedge nearer, not believing--until ears confirmed eyes. I heardColonel Kirby speak, very loud, indeed, as a man to whom good newscomes.

"Ranjoor Singh!" said he; and he took him by the hand and wrung it."Thank God!" he said, speaking from the heart as the British do attimes when they forget that others listen. "Thank God, old man!You've come in the nick of time!"

So I was right, and my heart leapt in me. He was with us before theblood ran! Every man in the squadron recognized him now, and I knewevery eye had watched to see Colonel Kirby draw saber and cut himdown, for habit of thought is harder to bend than a steel bar. But Icould feel the squadron coming round to my way of thinking asColonel Kirby continued talking to him, obviously making him anexplanation of our plan.

"Join your squadron, man--hurry!" I heard Colonel Kirby say at last,for taking advantage of the darkness I had let my horse draw verynear to them. Now I had to rein back and make pretense that my horsehad been unruly, for Ranjoor Singh came riding toward us, showinghis teeth in a great grin, and Captain Fellowes with a word ofreproof thrown back to me spurred on to meet him.

"Hurrah, Major Ranjoor Singh!" said Captain Fellowes. "I'm damnedglad to see you!" That was a generous speech, sahib, from a man whomust now yield command of the squadron, but Captain Fellowes had aheart like a bridegroom's always. He must always glory in thesquadron's luck, and he loved us better than himself. That was whywe loved him. They shook hands, and looked in each other's eyes.Ranjoor Singh wheeled his charger. And in that same second we alltogether saw three red lights swinging by the corner.

"TIN!" said we, with one voice. Tin means three, sahib, but itsounded rather like the scream of a shell that leaves on itsjourney.

My horse laid his ears back and dug his toes into the ground. Atrumpet sounded, and Colonel Kirby rose in his stirrups:

"Outram's Own!" he yelled, "by squadrons on number One--"

But the sahib would not be interested in the sequence of commandsthat have small meaning to those not familiar with them. And whoshall describe what followed? Who shall tell the story of a chargeinto the night, at an angle, into massed regiments of infantryadvancing one behind another at the double and taken by surprise?

The guns of both sides suddenly ceased firing. Even as I used myspurs they ceased. How? Who am I that I should know? The Britishguns, I suppose, from fear of slaying us, and the German guns fromfear of slaying Germans; but as to how, I know not. But the Germanstar-shells continued bursting overhead, and by that weird lighttheir oncoming infantry saw charging into them men they had neverseen before out of a picture-book!

God knows what tales they had been told about us Sikhs. I read theirfaces as I rode. Fear is an ugly weapon, sahib, whose hilt is moredangerous than its blade. If our officers had told us such talesabout Germans as their officers had told them about us, I thinkperhaps we might have feared to charge.

Numbers were as nothing that night. Speed, and shock, andunexpectedness were ours, and lies had prepared us our reception. DSquadron rode behind Ranjoor Singh like a storm in the night--swunginto line beside the other squadrons--and spurred forward as in adream. There was no shouting; no war-cry. We rode into the Germansas I have seen wind cut into a forest in the hills--downward intothem, for once we had leapt the trench the ground sloped their way.And they went down before us as we never had the chance of mowingthem again.

So, sahib, we proved our hearts--whether they were stout, and true,as the British had believed, or false, as the Germans planned andhoped. That was a night of nights--one of very few such, for themounted actions in this war have not been many. Hah! I have beenenvied! I have been called opprobrious names by a sergeant ofBritish lancers, out of great jealousy! But that is the way of theBritish. It happened later, when the trench fighting had settleddown in earnest and my regiment and his were waiting our turn behindthe lines. He and I sat together on a bench in a great tent, wheresome French artists gave us good entertainment.

He offered me tobacco, which I do not use, and rum, which I do notdrink. He accepted sweetmeats from me. And he called me a name thatwould make the sahib gulp, a word that I suppose he had picked upfrom a barrack-sweeper on the Bengal side of India. Then he slappedme on the back, and after that sat with his arm around me while theentertainment lasted. When we left the tent he swore roundly at anewcomer to the front for not saluting me, who am not entitled tosalute. That is the way of the British. But I was speaking ofRanjoor Singh. Forgive me, sahib.

The horse his trooper-servant rode was blown and nearly useless, sothat the trooper died that night for lack of a pair of heels,leaving us none to question as to Ranjoor Singh's late doings. ButBagh, Ranjoor Singh's charger, being a marvel of a beast whom fewcould ride but he, was fresh enough and Ranjoor Singh led us like awhirlwind beckoning a storm. I judged his heart was on fire. He ledus slantwise into a tight-packed regiment. We rolled it over, and hetook us beyond that into another one. In the dark he re-formed us(and few but he could have done that then)--lined us up again withthe other squadrons--and brought us back by the way we had come.Then he took us the same road a second time against remnants of themen who had withstood us and into yet another regiment that checkedand balked beyond. The Germans probably believed us ten times asmany as we truly were, for that one setback checked their advancealong the whole line.

Colonel Kirby led us, but I speak of Ranjoor Singh. I never once sawColonel Kirby until the fight was over and we were back againresting our horses behind the trees while the roll was called.Throughout the fight--and I have no idea whatever how long itlasted--I kept an eye on Ranjoor Singh and spurred in his wake,obeying the least motion of his saber. No, sahib, I myself did notslay many men. It is the business of a non-commissioned man like meto help his officers keep control, and I did what I might. I wasnearly killed by a wounded German officer who seized my bridle-rein;but a trooper's lance took him in the throat and I rode onuntouched. For all I know that was the only danger I was in thatnight.

A battle is a strange thing, sahib--like a dream. A man only knowssuch part of it as crosses his own vision, and remembers but littleof that. What he does remember seldom tallies with what the otherssaw. Talk with twenty of our regiment, and you may get twentydifferent versions of what took place--yet not one man would havelied to you, except perhaps here and there a little in the matter ofhis own accomplishment. Doubtless the Germans have a thousanddifferent accounts of it.

I know this, and the world knows it: that night the Germans melted.They were. Then they broke into parties and were not. We pursuedthem as they ran. Suddenly the star-shells ceased from burstingoverhead, and out of black darkness I heard Colonel Kirby's voicethundering an order. Then a trumpet blared. Then I heard RanjoorSingh's voice, high-pitched. Almost the next I knew we were haltedin the shadow of the trees again, calling low to one another,friend's voice seeking friend's. We could scarcely hear the voicesfor the thunder of artillery that had begun again; and whereasformerly the German gun-fire had been greatest, now we thought theBritish and French fire had the better of it. They had been re-enforced, but I have no notion whence.

The infantry, that had drawn aside like a curtain to let us through,had closed in again to the edge of the forest, and through the noiseof rifle-firing and artillery we caught presently the thunder of newregiments advancing at the double. Thousands of our Indian infantry--those who had been in the trains behind us--were coming forward ata run! God knows that was a night--to make a man glad he has lived!

It was not only the Germans who had not expected us. Now, sahib, forthe first time the British infantry began to understand who it waswho had come to their aid, and they began to sing--one song, alltogether. The wounded sang it, too, and the stretcher-bearers. Therecame a day when we had our own version of that song, but that nightit was new to us. We only caught a few words--the first words. Thesahib knows the words--the first few words? It was true we had comea long, long way; but it choked us into silence to hear thatbattered infantry acknowledge it.

Color and creed, sahib. What are color and creed? The world hasmistaken us Sikhs too long for a breed it can not understand. WeSikhs be men, with the hearts of men; and that night we knew thatour hearts and theirs were one. Nor have I met since then the firethat could destroy the knowledge, although efforts have been made,and reasons shown me.

But my story is of Ranjoor Singh and of what he did. I but tell myown part to throw more light on his. What I did is as nothing. Ofwhat he did, you shall be the judge--remembering this, that he whodoes, and he who glories in the deed are one. Be attentive, sahib;this is a tale of tales!

CHAPTER II

Can the die fall which side up it will? Nay, not if it be honest.--EASTERN PROVERB.

Many a league our infantry advanced that night, the guns following,getting the new range by a miracle each time they took new ground.We went forward, too, at the cost of many casualties--too many inproportion to the work we did. We were fired on in the darkness morethan once by our own infantry. We, who had lost but seventy-two menkilled and wounded in the charge, were short another hundred whenthe day broke and nothing to the good by it.

Getting lost in the dark--falling into shell-holes--swooping down onrear-guards that generally proved to have machine guns with them--weary men on hungrier, wearier horses--the wonder is that a man rodeback to tell of it at dawn.

One-hundred-and-two-and-seventy were our casualties, and some twohundred horses--some of the men so lightly wounded that they wereback in the ranks within the week. At dawn they sent us to the rearto rest, we being too good a target for the enemy by daylight. Someof us rode two to a horse. On our way to the camp the French hadpitched for us we passed through reenforcements coming from anothersection of the front, who gave us the right of way, and we took thesalute of two divisions of French infantry who, I suppose, had beentold of the service we had rendered. Said I to Gooja Singh, who saton my horse's rump, his own beast being disemboweled, "Who speaksnow of a poor beginning?" said I.

"I would rather see the end!" said he. But he never saw the end.Gooja Singh was ever too impatient of beginnings, and too sure whatthe end ought to be, to make certain of the middle part. I haveknown men on outpost duty so far-seeing that an enemy had them athis mercy if only he could creep close enough. And such men arealways grumblers.

Gooja Singh led the grumbling now--he who had been first to prophesyhow we should be turned into infantry. They kept us at the rear, andtook away our horses--took even our spurs, making us drill withunaccustomed weapons. And I think that the beginning of the newdistrust of Ranjoor Singh was in resentment at his patience with thebayonet drill. We soldiers are like women, sahib, ever resentful ofthe new--aye, like women in more ways than one; for whom we haveloved best we hate most when the change comes.

Once, at least a squadron of us had loved Ranjoor Singh to thedeath. He was a Sikh of Sikhs. It had been our boast that fire couldnot burn his courage nor love corrupt him, and I was still of thatmind; but not so the others. They began to remember how he hadstayed behind when we left India. We had all seen him in disguise,in conversation with that German by the Delhi Gate. We knew how busyhe had been in the bazaars while the rumors flew. And the trooperwho had stayed behind with him, who had joined us with him at thevery instant of the charge that night, died in the charge; so thatthere was none to give explanation of his conduct. Ranjoor Singhhimself was a very rock for silence. Our British officers saidnothing, doubtless not suspecting the distrust; for it was a bywordthat Ranjoor Singh held the honor of the squadron in his hand. Yetof all the squadron only the officers and I now trusted him--theSikh officers because they imitated the British; the British becausefaith is a habit with them, once pledged, and I--God knows. Therewere hours when I did distrust him--black hours, best forgotten.

The war settled down into a siege of trenches, and soon we weregiven a section of a trench to hold. Little by little we grew wiseat the business of tossing explosives over blind banks--we, whowould rather have been at it with the lance and saber. Yet, can adie fall which side up it will? Nay, not if it be honest! We werethere to help. We who had carried coal could shovel mud, and as timewent on we grumbled less.

But time hung heavy, and curiosity regarding Ranjoor Singh led fromone conjecture to another. At last Gooja Singh asked CaptainFellowes, and he said that Ranjoor Singh had stayed behind to exposea German plot--that having done so, he had hurried after us. Thatexplanation ought to have satisfied every one, and I think it didfor a time. But who could hide from such a man as Ranjoor Singh thatthe squadron's faith in him was gone? That knowledge made himsavage. How should we know that he had been forbidden to tell uswhat had kept him? When he set aside his pride and made usovertures, there was no response; so his heart hardened in him.Secrecy is good. Secrecy is better than all the lame explanations inthe world. But in this war there has been too much secrecy in thewrong place. They should have let him line us up and tell us hiswhole story. But later, when perhaps he might have done it, eitherhis pride was too great or his sense of obedience too tightly spun.To this day he has never told us. Not that it matters.

The subtlest fool is the worst, and Gooja Singh's tongue did notlack subtlety on occasion. He made it his business to remind thesquadron daily of its doubts, and I, who should have known better,laughed at some of the things he said and agreed with others. One isthe fool who speaks with him who listens. I have never been rebukedfor it by Ranjoor Singh, and more than once since that day he hasseen fit to praise me; but in that hour when most he needed friendsI became his half-friend, which is worse than enemy. I never raisedmy voice once in defense of him in those days.

Meanwhile Ranjoor Singh grew very wise at this trench warfare,Colonel Kirby and the other British officers taking great comfort inhis cunning. It was he who led us to tie strings to the German wireentanglements, which we then jerked from our trench, causing them tolie awake and waste much ammunition. It was he who thought ofdressing turbans on the end of poles and thrusting them forward atthe hour before dawn when fear and chill and darkness have donetheir worst work. That started a panic that cost the Germans eightymen.

I think his leadership would have won the squadron back to love him.I know it saved his life. We had all heard tales of how the Britishsoldiers in South Africa made short work of the officers they didnot love, and it would have been easy to make an end of RanjoorSingh on any dark night. But he led too well; men were afraid totake the responsibility lest the others turn on them. One night Ioverheard two troopers considering the thought, and they suspected Ihad overheard. I said nothing, but they were afraid, as I knew theywould be. Has the sahib ever heard of "left-hand casualties"? I willexplain.

We Sikhs have a saying that in fear there is no wisdom. None can bewise and afraid. None can be afraid and wise. The men at the front,both Indian and British-French, too, for aught I know--who feared tofight longer in the trenches were seized in those early days withthe foolish thought of inflicting some injury on themselves--notvery severe, but enough to cause a spell of absence at the base anda rest in hospital. Folly being the substance of that idea, and mostmen being right-handed, such self-inflicted wounds were practicallyalways in the hand or foot and always on the left side. Theambulance men knew them, on the instant.

Those two fools of my squadron wounded themselves with bullets inthe left hand, forgetting that their palms would be burned by thedischarge. I was sent to the rear to give evidence against them (forI saw them commit the foolishness). The cross-examination we allthree underwent was clever--at the hands of a young British captain,who, I dare swear, was suckled by a Sikh nurse in the Punjab. Inless than thirty minutes he had the whole story out of us; and thetwo troopers were shot that evening for an example.

That young captain was greatly impressed with the story we had toldabout Ranjoor Singh, and he called me back afterward and asked me ahundred questions more--until he must have known the very color ofmy entrails and I knew not which way I faced. To all of this asenior officer of the Intelligence Department listened with bothears, and presently he and the captain talked together.

The long and short of that was that Ranjoor Singh was sent for; andwhen he returned to the trench after two days' absence it was towork independently of us--from our trench, but irrespective of ourdoings. Even Colonel Kirby now had no orders to give him, althoughthey two talked long and at frequent intervals in the place ColonelKirby called his funk-hole. It was now that the squadron'sreawakening love for Ranjoor Singh received the worst check of any.We had almost forgotten he knew German. Henceforward he conversed inGerman each day with the enemy.

It is a strange thing, sahib,--not easy to explain--but I, who haveachieved some fluency in English and might therefore have admiredhis gift of tongues, now began to doubt him in earnest--hatingmyself the while, but doubting him. And Gooja Singh, who had talkedthe most and dropped the blackest hints against him, now began totake his side.

And Ranjoor Singh said nothing. Night after night he went to lie atthe point where our trench and the enemy's lay closest. There hewould talk with some one whom we never saw, while we sat shiveringin the mud. Cold we can endure, sahib, as readily as any; it iscolder in winter where I come from than anything I felt in Flanders;but the rain and the mud depressed our spirits, until with these twoeyes I have seen grown men weeping.

They kept us at work to encourage us. Our spells in the trench wereshortened and our rests at the rear increased to the utmostpossible. Only Ranjoor Singh took no vacation, remaining ever on thewatch, passing from one trench to another, conversing ever with theenemy.

We dug and they dug, each side laboring everlastingly to find theother's listening places and to blow them up by means of mining, sothat the earth became a very rat-run. Above-ground, where were onlyruin and barbed wire, there was no sign of activity, but only agreat stench that came from bodies none dared bury. We were thankfulthat the wind blew oftenest from us to them; but whichever way thewind blew Ranjoor Singh knew no rest. He was ever to be found wherethe lines lay closest at the moment, either listening or talking. Weunderstood very well that he was carrying out orders given him atthe rear, but that did not make the squadron or the regiment likehim any better, and as far as that went I was one with them; I hatedto see a squadron leader stoop to such intrigues.

It was plain enough that some sort of intrigue was making headway,for the Germans soon began to toss over into our trench bundles ofprinted pamphlets, explaining in our tongue why they were our bestfriends and why therefore we should refuse to wage war on them. Theythrew printed bulletins that said, in good Punjabi, there wasrevolution from end to end of India, rioting in England, utterdisaster to the British fleet, and that our way home again to Indiahad been cut by the German war-ships. They must have been ignorantof the fact that we received our mail from India regularly. I havenoticed this about the Germans: they are unable to convincethemselves that any other people can appreciate the same things theyappreciate, think as swiftly as they, or despise the terrors theydespise. That is one reason why they must lose this war. But thereare others also.

One afternoon, when I was pretending to doze in a niche near theentrance to Colonel Kirby's funk-hole, I became possessed of the keyto it all; for Colonel Kirby's voice was raised more than once inanger. I understood at last how Ranjoor Singh had orders to deceivethe Germans as to our state of mind. He was to make them believe wewere growing mutinous and that the leaven only needed time in whichto work; this of course for the purpose of throwing them off theirguard.

My heart stopped beating while I listened, for what man hears hishonor smirched without wincing? Even so I think I would have held mytongue, only that Gooja Singh, who dozed in a niche on the otherside of the funk-hole entrance, heard the same as I.

Said Gooja Singh that evening to the troopers round about: "Theychose well," said he. "They picked a brave man--a clever man, for adesperate venture!" And when the troopers asked what that mightmean, he asked how many of them in the Punjab had seen a goat tiedto a stake to lure a panther. The suggestion made them think. Then,pretending to praise him, letting fall no word that could be thrownback in his teeth, he condemned Ranjoor Singh for a worse traitorthan any had yet believed him. Gooja Singh was a man with a certainsubtlety. A man with two tongues, very dangerous.

"Ranjoor Singh is brave," said he, "for he is not afraid tosacrifice us all. Many officers are afraid to lose too many men inthe gaining of an end, but not so he. He is clever, for who elsewould have thought of making us seem despicable to the Germans inorder to tempt them to attack in force at this point? Have ye notnoticed how to our rear all is being made ready for the defense andfor a counter-attack to follow? We are the bait. The battle is to bewaged over our dead bodies."

I corrected him. I said I had heard as well as he, and that ColonelKirby was utterly angry at the defamation of those whom he was everpleased to call "his Sikhs." But that convinced nobody, although itdid the colonel sahib no harm in the regiment's opinion--not that heneeded advocates. We were all ready to die around Colonel Kirby atany minute. Even Gooja Singh was ready to do that.

"Does the colonel sahib accept the situation?" one of the troopersasked.

"Aye, for he must," said Gooja Singh; and I could not deny it."Ranjoor Singh went over his head and orders have come from therear." I could not deny that either, although I did not believe it.How should I, or any one, know what passed after Ranjoor Singh hadbeen sent for by the Intelligence officers? I was his half-friend inthose days, sahib. Worse than his enemy--unwilling to take partagainst him, yet unready to speak up in his defense. Doubtless mysilence went for consent among the troopers.

The end of the discussion found men unafraid. "If the colonel sahibis willing to be bait," said they, "then so be we, but let us see toit that none hang back." And so the whole regiment made up its mindto die desperately, yet with many a sidewise glance at RanjoorSingh, who was watched more carefully than I think he guessed inthose days. If he had tried to slip back to the rear it would havebeen the end of him. But he continued with us.

And all this while a great force gathered at our rear--gathered andgrew--Indian and British infantry. Guns by the fifty were broughtforward under cover of the night and placed in line behind us.Ranjoor Singh continued talking with the enemy, lying belly downwardin the mud, and they kept throwing printed stuff to us that weturned in to our officers. But the Germans did not attack. And theforce behind us grew.

Then one evening, just after dusk, we were all amazed by the newsthat the assault was to come from our side. And almost before thatnews had reached us the guns at our rear began their overture,making preparation beyond the compass of a man's mind to grasp orconvey. They hurled such a torrent of shells that the Germans couldneither move away the troops in front of us nor bring up others totheir aid. It did not seem possible that one German could be leftalive, and I even felt jealous because, thought I, no work would beleft for us to do! Yet men did live--as we discovered. For a nightand a day our ordnance kept up that preparation, and then word wentaround.

Who shall tell of a night attack, from a trench against trenches?Suddenly the guns ceased pounding the earth in front of us andlifted to make a screen of fire almost a mile beyond. There wasinstant pitch darkness on every hand, and out of that a hundredtrumpets sounded. Instantly, each squadron leader leaped theearthwork, shouting to his men. Ranjoor Singh leaped up in front ofus, and we followed him, all forgetting their distrust of him in thefierce excitement--remembering only how he had led us in the chargeon that first night. The air was thick with din, and fumes, andflying metal--for the Germans were not forgetting to use artillery.I ceased to think of anything but going forward. Who shall describeit?

Once in Bombay I heard a Christian preacher tell of the Judgment Dayto come, when graves shall give up their dead. That is not our Sikhidea of judgment, but his words brought before my mind a pictureriot so much unlike a night attack in Flanders. He spoke of thewhole earth trembling and consumed by fire--of thunder and lightningand a great long trumpet call--of the dead leaping alive again fromthe graves where they lay buried. Not a poor picture, sahib, of anight attack in Flanders!

The first line of German trenches, and the second had been poundedout of being by our guns. The barbed wire had been cut intofragments by our shrapnel. Here and there an arm or a leg protrudedfrom the ground--here and there a head. For two hundred yards andperhaps more there was nothing to oppose us, except the enemy shellsbursting so constantly that we seemed to breathe splintered metal.Yet very few were hit. The din was so great that it seemed to besilence. We were phantom men, going forward without sound offootfall. I could neither feel nor think for the first two hundredyards, but ran with my bayonet out in front of me. And then I didfeel. A German bayonet barked my knuckles. After that there wasfighting such as I hope never to know again.

The Germans did not seem to have been taken by surprise at all. Theyhad made ample preparation. And as for holding us in contempt, theygave no evidence of that. Their wounded were unwilling to surrenderbecause their officers had given out we would torture prisoners. Wehad to pounce on them, and cut their buttons off and slit theirboots, so that they must use both hands to hold their trousers upand could not run. And that took time so that we lagged behind alittle, for we took more prisoners than the regiments to right andleft of us. The Dogra regiment to our left and the Gurkha regimentto our right gained on us fast, and we became, as it were, thecenter of a new moon.

But then in the light of bursting shells we saw Colonel Kirby andRanjoor Singh and Captain Fellowes and some other officers far outin front of us beckoning--calling on us for our greatest effort. Weanswered. We swept forward after them into the teeth of all theinventions in the world. Mine after mine exploded under our veryfeet. Shrapnel burst among us. There began to be uncut wire, and menrushed out at us from trenches that we thought obliterated, but thatproved only to have been hidden under debris by our gun-fire.Shadows resolved into trenches defended by machine guns.

But we went forward--cavalry, without a spur among us--cavalry withrifles--cavalry on foot--infantry with the fire and the drill andthe thoughts of cavalry--still cavalry at heart, for all the weaponsthey had given us and the trench life we had lived. We remembered,sahib, that the Germans had been educated lately to despise us, andwe were out that night to convert them to a different opinion! Itseemed good to D Squadron that Ranjoor Singh, who had done thedefamation, should lead us to the clearing of our name. Nothingcould stop us that night.

Whereas we had been last in the advance, we charged into the leadand held it. We swept on I know not how far, but very far beyond thewings. No means had been devised that I know of for checking thedistance covered, and I suppose Headquarters timed the attack andtried to judge how far the advance had carried, with the aid ofmessengers sent running back. No easy task!

At all events we lost touch with the regiments to right and left,but kept touch with the enemy, pressing forward until suddenly ourown shell-fire ceased to fall in front of us but resumed poundingtoward our rear. They call such a fire a barrage, sahib. Its purposeis to prevent the enemy from making a counter-attack until theinfantry can dig themselves in and secure the new ground won. Thatmeant we were isolated. It needed no staff officer to tell, us that,or to bring us to our senses. We were like men who wake from anightmare, to find the truth more dreadful than the dream.

Colonel Kirby was wounded a little, and sat while a risaldar boundhis arm. Ranjoor Singh found a short trench half full of water, andordered us into it. Although we had not realized it until then, itwas raining torrents, and the Germans we drove out of that trench(there were but a few of them) were wetter than water rats; but wehad to scramble down into it, and the cold bath finished what thesense of isolation had begun. We were sober men when Kirby sahibscrambled in last and ordered us to begin on the trench at once withpicks and shovels that the Germans had left behind. We altered thetrench so that it faced both ways, and waited shivering for thedawn.

Let it not be supposed, however, sahib, that we waited unmolested.The Germans are not that kind of warrior. I hold no brief for them,but I tell no lies about them, either. They fight with persistence,bravery, and what they consider to be cunning. We were under rifle-fire at once from before and behind and the flanks, and our ownartillery began pounding the ground so close to us that fragments ofshell and shrapnel flew over our heads incessantly, and great clodsof earth came thumping and splashing into our trench, compelling usto keep busy with the shovels. Nor did the German artillery omit tomake a target of us, though with poor success. More than the half ofus lived; and to prove that there had been thought as well asbravery that night we had plenty of ammunition with us. We weretroubled to stow the ammunition out of the wet, yet where it wouldbe safe from the German fire.

We made no reply to the shell-fire, for that would have beenfoolishness; so, doubtless thinking they had the range not quiteright, or perhaps supposing that we had been annihilated, the enemydiscontinued shelling us and devoted their attention to our friendsbeyond. But at the same time a battalion of infantry began to feelits way toward us and we grew very busy with our rifles, the woundedcrawling through the wet to pass the cartridges. Once there was abayonet charge, which we repelled.

Those who had not thrown away their knapsacks to lighten themselveshad their emergency rations, but about half of us had nothing to eatwhatever. It was perfectly evident to all of us from the very firstthat unless we should receive prompt aid at dawn our case was ashopeless as death itself. So much the more reason for stout hearts,said we, and our bearing put new heart into our officers.

When dawn came the sight was not inspiriting. Dawn amid a waste ofFlanders mud, seen through a rain-storm, is not a joyous spectaclein any case. Consider, sahib, what a sunny land we came from, andpass no hasty judgment on us if our spirits sank. It was theweather, not the danger that depressed us. I, who was near thecenter of the trench, could see to right and left over the ends, andI made a hasty count of heads, discovering that we, who had been aregiment, were now about three hundred men, forty of whom werewounded.

I saw that we were many a hundred yards away from the nearestBritish trench. The Germans had crept under cover of the darknessand dug themselves in anew between us and our friends. Before us wasa trench full of infantry, and there were others to right and left.We were completely surrounded; and it was not an hour after dawnwhen the enemy began to shout to us to show our hands and surrender.Colonel Kirby forbade us to answer them, and we lay still as deadmen until they threw bombs--which we answered with bullets.

After that we were left alone for an hour or two, and Colonel Kirby,whose wound was not serious, began passing along the trench, knee-deep in the muddy water, to inspect us and count us and give eachman encouragement. It was just as he passed close to me that a hand-grenade struck him in the thigh and exploded. He fell forward on me,and I took him across my knee lest he fall into the water and besmothered. That is how it happened that only I overheard what hesaid to Ranjoor Singh before he died. Several others tried to hear,for we loved Colonel Kirby as sons love their father; but, since helay with his head on my shoulder, my ear was as close to his lips asRanjoor Singh's, to whom he spoke, so that Ranjoor Singh and I heardand the rest did not. Later I told the others, but they chose todisbelieve me.

Ranjoor Singh came wading along the trench, stumbling over men'sfeet in his hurry and nearly falling just as he reached us, so thatfor the moment I thought he too had been shot. Besides ColonelKirby, who was dying in my arms, he, and Captain Fellowes, and oneother risaldar were our only remaining officers. Colonel Kirby wasin great pain, so that his words were not in his usual voice butforced through clenched teeth, and Ranjoor Singh had to stoop tolisten.

"Shepherd 'em!" said Colonel Kirby. "Shepherd 'em, Ranjoor Singh!"My ear was close and I heard each word. "A bad business. They didnot know enough to listen to you at Headquarters. Don't waste timeblaming anybody. Pray for wisdom, and fear nothing! You're incommand now. Take over. Shepherd 'em! Good-by, old friend!"

"Good-by, Colonel sahib," said Ranjoor Singh, and Kirby sahib diedin that moment, having shed the half of his blood over me. RanjoorSingh and I laid him along a ledge above the water and it was notvery long before a chance shell dropped near and buried him under aton of earth. Yes, sahib, a British shell.

Presently Ranjoor Singh waded along the trench to have word withCaptain Fellowes, who was wounded rather badly. I made busy with themen about me, making them stand where they could see best with leastrisk of exposure and ordering spade work here and there. It is astrange thing, sahib, but I have never seen it otherwise, that spadework--which is surely the most important thing--is the last thingtroopers will attend to unless compelled. They will comb theirbeards, and decorate the trench with colored stones and draw namesin the mud, but the all-important digging waits. Sikh and Gurkha andBritish and French are all alike in that respect.

When Ranjoor Singh came back from his talk with Captain Fellowes hesent me to the right wing under our other risaldar, and after he waskilled by a grenade I was in command of the right wing of ourtrench.

The three days that followed have mostly gone from memory, thatbeing the way of evil. If men could remember pain and misery theywould refuse to live because of the risk of more of it; but hopesprings ever anew out of wretchedness like sprouts on the burnedland, and the ashes are forgotten. I do not remember much of thosethree days.

There was nothing to eat. There began to be a smell. There was worsethan nothing to drink, for thirst took hold of us, yet the water inthe trench was all pollution. The smell made us wish to vomit, yetwhat could the empty do but desire? Corpses lay all around us. No,sahib, not the dead of the night before's fighting. Have I not saidthat the weather was cold? The bombardment by our own guns precedingour attack had torn up graves that were I know not how old. When weessayed to re-bury some bodies the Germans drove us back undercover.

That night, and the next, several attempts were made to rush us, butunder Ranjoor Singh's command we beat them off. He was wakeful asthe stars and as unexcited. Obedience to him was so comforting thatmen forgot for the time their suspicion and distrust. When dawn camethere were more dead bodies round about, and some wounded who calledpiteously for help. The Germans crawled out to help their wounded,but Ranjoor Singh bade us drive them back and we obeyed.

Then the Germans began shouting to us, and Ranjoor Singh answeredthem. If he had answered in English, so that most of us could haveunderstood, all would surely have been well; I am certain that inthat case the affection, returning because of his fine leadership,would have destroyed the memory of suspicion. But I suppose it hadbecome habit with him to talk to the enemy in German by that time,and as the words we could not understand passed back and forth evenI began to hate him. Yet he drove a good bargain for us.

Instead of hand-grenades the Germans began to throw bread to us--great, flat, army loaves, Ranjoor Singh not showing himself, butcounting aloud as each loaf came over, we catching with greatanxiety lest they fall into the water and be polluted. It took along time, but when there was a good dry loaf for each man, RanjoorSingh gave the Germans leave to come and carry in their wounded, andbade us hold our fire. Gooja Singh was for playing a trick but thetroopers near him murmured and Ranjoor Singh threatened him withdeath if he dared. He never forgot that.

The Germans who came to fetch the wounded laughed at us, but RanjoorSingh forbade us to answer, and Captain Fellowes backed him up.

"There will be another attack from our side presently," said CaptainFellowes, "and our friends will answer for us."

I shuddered at that. I remembered the bombardment that preceded ourfirst advance. Better die at the hands of the enemy, thought I. ButI said nothing. Presently, however, a new thought came to me, and Icalled to Ranjoor Singh along the trench.

"You should have made a better bargain," said I. "You should havecompelled them to care for our wounded before they were allowed totake their own!"

"I demanded, but they refused," he answered, and then I wished I hadbitten out my tongue rather than speak, for although I believed hisanswer, the rest of the men did not. There began to be new murmuringagainst him, led by Gooja Singh; but Gooja Singh was too subtle tobe convicted of the responsibility.

Captain Fellowes grew aware of the murmuring and made much showthenceforward of his faith in Ranjoor Singh. He was weak from hiswound and was attended constantly by two men, so that although hekept command of the left wing and did ably he could not shout loudenough to be heard very far, and he had to send messages to RanjoorSingh from mouth to mouth. His evident approval had somewhat theeffect of subduing the men's resentment, although not much, and whenhe died that night there was none left, save I, to lend our leadercountenance. And I was only his half-friend, without enough merit inmy heart truly to be the right-hand man I was by right of seniority.I was willing enough to die at his back, but not to share contemptwith him.

The day passed and there came another day, when the bread was done,and there were no more German wounded straddled in the mud over whomto strike new bargains. It had ceased raining, so we could catch norain to drink. We were growing weak from weariness and want ofsleep, and we demanded of Ranjoor Singh that he lead us back towardthe British lines.

"We should perish on the way," said he.

"What of it?" we answered, I with the rest. "Better that than thisvulture's death in a graveyard!"

But he shook his head and ordered us to try to think like men. "Thelife of a Sikh," said he, "and the oath of a Sikh are one. We sworeto serve our friends. To try to cut our way back would be but to diefor our own comfort."

"You should have led us back that first night, when the attack wasspent," said Gooja Singh.

"I was not in command that first night," Ranjoor Singh answered him,and who could gainsay that?

At irregular intervals British shells began bursting near us, and weall knew what they were. The batteries were feeling for the range.They would begin a new bombardment. Now, therefore, is the end, saidwe. But Ranjoor Singh stood up with his head above the trench andbegan shouting to the Germans. They answered him. Then, to our utterastonishment, he tore the shirt from a dead man, tied it to a rifle,and held it up.

The Germans cheered and laughed, but we made never a sound. We werebewildered--sick from the stink and weariness and thirst and lack offood. Yet I swear to you, sahib, on my honor that it had not enteredinto the heart of one of us to surrender. That we who had been firstof the Indian contingent to board a ship, first to land in France,first to engage the enemy, should now be first to surrender in abody seemed to us very much worse than death. Yet Ranjoor Singh badeus leave our rifles and climb out of the trench, and we obeyed him.God knows why we obeyed him. I, who had been half-hearted hitherto,hated him in that minute as a trapped wolf hates the hunter; yet I,too, obeyed.

We left our dead for the Germans to bury, but we dragged the woundedout and some of them died as we lifted them. When we reached theGerman trench and they counted us, including Ranjoor Singh andthree-and-forty wounded there were two-hundred-and-three-and-fiftyof us left alive.

They led Ranjoor Singh apart. He had neither rifle nor saber in hishand, and he walked to their trench alone because we avoided him. Hewas more muddy than we, and as ragged and tired. He had stood in thesame foul water, and smelt the same stench. He was hungry as we. Hehad been willing to surrender, and we had not. Yet he walked like anofficer, and looked like one, and we looked like animals. And weknew it, and he knew it. And the Germans recognized the facts.

He acted like a crowned king when he reached the trench. A Germanofficer spoke with him earnestly, but he shook his head and thenthey led him away. When he was gone the same officer came and spoketo us in English, and I understanding him at once, he bade me tellthe others that the British must have witnessed our surrender."See," said he, "what a bombardment they have begun again. That isin the hope of slaying you. That is out of revenge because you daredsurrender instead of dying like rats in a ditch to feed theirpride!" It was true that a bombardment had begun again. It had begunthat minute. Those truly had been ranging shells. If we had stayedfive minutes longer before surrendering we should have been blown topieces; but we were in no mood to care on that account.

The Germans are a simple folk, sahib, although they themselves thinkotherwise. When they think they are the subtlest they are easiest tounderstand. Understanding was reborn in my heart on account of thatGerman's words. Thought I, if Ranjoor Singh were in truth a traitorthen he would have leaped at a chance to justify himself to us. Hewould have repeated what that German had urged him to tell us. Yet Isaw him refuse.

As they hurried him away alone, pity for him came over me like warmrain on the parched earth, and when a man can pity he can reason, Ispoke in Punjabi to the others and the German officer thought I wastranslating what he told me to say, yet in truth I reminded themthat man can find no place where God is not, and where God is iscourage. I was senior now, and my business was to encourage them.They took new heart from my words, all except Gooja Singh, who weptnoisily, and the German officer was pleased with what he mistook forthe effect of his speech.

"Tell them they shall be excellently treated," said he, seizing myelbow. "When we shall have won this war the British will no longerbe able to force natives of India to fight their battles for them."

I judged it well to repeat that word for word. There are over tenapplicants for every vacancy in such a regiment as ours, and untilRanjoor Singh ordered our surrender, we were all free men--freegivers of our best; whereas the Germans about us were allconscripts. The comparison did no harm.

We saw no more of our wounded until some of them were returned to ushealed, weeks later; but from them we learned that their treatmenthad been good. With us, however, it was not so, in spite of thepromise the German officer had made. We were hustled along a widetrench, and taken over by another guard, not very numerous butbrutal, who kicked us without excuse. As we went the trenches wereunder fire all the time from the British artillery. The guards sworeit was our surrender that had drawn the fire, and belabored us themore on that account.

At the rear of the German lines we were herded in a quarry lest weobserve too much, and it was not until after dark that we were givenhalf a loaf of bread apiece. Then, without time to eat that whichhad been given to us, we were driven off into the darkness. First,however, they took our goatskin overcoats away, saying they were toogood to be worn by savages. A non-commissioned officer, who couldspeak good English, was sent for to explain that point to us.

After an hour's march through the dark we were herded into somecattle trucks that stood on a siding behind some trees. The trucksdid not smell of cattle, but of foul garments and unwashed men. Twoarmed German infantrymen were locked into each truck with us, andthe pair in the truck in which I was drove us in a crowd to thefarther end, claiming an entire half for themselves. It was truethat we stank, for we had been many days and nights withoutopportunity to get clean; yet they offered us no means of washing-only abuse. I have seen German prisoners allowed to wash before theyhad been ten minutes behind the British lines.

We were five days in that train, sahib--five days and nights. Ourguards were fed at regular intervals, but not we. Once or twice aday they brought us a bucket of water from which we were biddendrink in a great hurry while the train waited; yet often the trainwaited hours on sidings and no water at all was brought us. For foodwe were chiefly dependent on the charity of people at the waysidestations who came with gifts intended for German wounded; some ofthose took pity on us.

At last, sahib, when we were cold and stiff and miserable to thevery verge of death, we came to a little place called Oeschersleben,and there the cruelty came to an unexpected end. We were ordered outof the trucks and met on the platform by a German, not in uniform,who showed distress at our predicament and who hastened to assure usin our own tongue that henceforward there would be amends made.

If that man had taken charge of us in the beginning we might nothave been suspicious of him, for he seemed gentle and his words werefair; but now his kindness came too late to have effect. Animals cansometimes be rendered tame by starvation and brutality followed byplenty and kindness, but not men, and particularly not Sikhs--itbeing no part of our Guru's teaching that either full belly ortutored intellect can compensate for lack of goodness. Neither is ithis teaching, on the other hand, that a man must wear thoughts onhis face; so we did not reject this man's advances.

"There have been mistakes made," said he, "by ignorant commonsoldiers who knew no better. You shall recuperate on good food, andthen we shall see what we shall see."

I asked him where Ranjoor Singh was, but he did not answer me.

We were not compelled to walk. Few of us could have walked. We werestiff from confinement and sick from neglect. Carts drawn by oxenstood near the station, and into those we were crowded and driven toa camp on the outskirts of the town. There comfortable wooden hutswere ready, well warmed and clean--and a hot meal--and much hotwater in which we were allowed to bathe.

Then, when we had eaten, doctors came and examined us. New clotheswere given us--German uniforms of khaki, and khaki cotton cloth fromwhich to bind new turbans. Nothing was left undone to make us feelwell received, except that a barbed-wire fence was all about thecamp and armed guards marched up and down outside.

Being senior surviving non-commissioned officer, I was put in chargeof the camp in a certain manner, with many restrictions to myauthority, and for about a week we did nothing but rest and eat andkeep the camp tidy. All day long Germans, mostly women and childrenbut some men, came to stare at us through the barbed-wire fence asif we were caged animals, but no insults were offered us. Rather,the women showed us kindness and passed us sweetmeats and strangefood through the fence until an officer came and stopped them withoverbearing words. Then, presently, there was a new change.

A week had gone and we were feeling better, standing about andlooking at the freshly fallen snow, marking the straight tracks madeby the sentries outside the fence, and thinking of home maybe, whennew developments commenced.

Telegrams translated into Punjabi were nailed to the door of a hut,telling of India in rebellion and of men, women and childrenbutchered by the British in cold blood. Other telegrams stated thatthe Sikhs of India in particular had risen, and that Pertab Singh,our prince, had been hanged in public. Many other lies they postedup. It would be waste of time to tell them all. They werefoolishness--such foolishness as might deceive the German public,but not us who had lived in India all our lives and who had receivedour mail from home within a day or two of our surrender.

There came plausible men who knew our tongue and the argument wasbluntly put to us that we ought to let expediency be our guide inall things. Yet we were expected to trust the men who gave us suchadvice!

Our sense of justice was not courted once. They made appeal to ourbellies--to our purses--to our lust--to our fear--but to ourrighteousness not at all. They made for us great pictures of whatGerman rule of the world would be, and at last I asked whether itwas true that the kaiser had turned Muhammadan. I was given noanswer until I had asked repeatedly, and then it was explained howthat had been a rumor sent abroad to stir Islam; to us, on the otherhand, nothing but truth was told. So I asked, was it true that ourPrince Pertab Singh had been hanged, and they told me yes. I askedthem where, and they said in Delhi. Yet I knew that Pertab Singh wasall the while in London. I asked them where was Ranjoor Singh allthis while, and for a time they made no answer, so I asked again andagain. Then one day they began to talk of Ranjoor Singh.

They told us he was being very useful to them, in Berlin, in dailyconference with the German General Staff, explaining matters thatpertained to the intended invasion of India. Doubtless they thoughtthat news would please us greatly. But, having heard so many liesalready, I set that down for another one, and the others became allthe more determined in their loyalty from sheer disgust at RanjoorSingh's unfaithfulness. They believed and I disbelieved, yet theresult was one.

At night Gooja Singh held forth in the hut where he slept withtwenty-five others. He explained--although he did not say how heknew--that the Germans have kept for many years in Berlin an officefor the purpose of intrigue in India--an office manned by Sikhtraitors. "That is where Ranjoor Singh will be," said he. "He willbe managing that bureau." In those days Gooja Singh was RanjoorSingh's bitterest enemy, although later he changed sides again.

The night-time was the worst. By day there was the camp to keepclean and the German officers to talk to; but at night we lay awakethinking of India, and of our dead officer sahibs, and of all thathad been told us that we knew was lies. Ever the conversation turnedto Ranjoor Singh at last, and night after night the anger grewagainst him. I myself admitted very often that his duty had been tolead us to our death. I was ashamed as the rest of our surrender.

After a time, as our wounded began to be drafted back to us fromhospital, we were made to listen to accounts of alleged great Germanvictories. They told us the German army was outside Paris and thatthe whole of the British North Sea Fleet was either sunk orcaptured. They also said that the Turks in Gallipoli had won greatvictories against the Allies. We began to wonder why such conquerorsshould seek so earnestly the friendship of a handful of us Sikhs.Our wounded began to be drafted back to us well primed, and theirstories made us think, but not as the Germans would have had usthink.

Week after week until the spring came we listened to their tales byday and talked them over among ourselves at night; and the more theyassured us Ranjoor Singh was working with them in Berlin, the morewe prayed for opportunity to prove our hearts. Spring dragged alonginto summer and there began to be prayers for vengeance on him. Isaid less than any. Understanding had not come to me fully yet, butit seemed to me that if Ranjoor Singh was really playing traitor,then he was going a tedious way about it. Yet it was equally clearthat if I should dare to say one word in his behalf that would be topass sentence on myself. I kept silence when I could, and wasevasive when they pressed me, cowardice struggling with newconviction in my heart.

There came one night at last, when men's hearts burned in them tooterribly for sleep, that some one proposed a resolution and sent theword whispering from hut to hut, that we should ask for RanjoorSingh to be brought to us. Let the excuse be that he was ourrightful leader, and that therefore he ought to advise us what weshould do. Let us promise to do faithfully whatever Ranjoor Singhshould order. Then, when he should have been brought to us, shouldhe talk treason we would tear him in pieces with our hands. Thatresolution was agreed to. I also agreed. It was I who asked the nextday that Ranjoor Singh be brought. The German officer laughed; yet Iasked again, and he went away smiling.

We talked of our plan at night. We repeated it at dawn. We whisperedit above the bread at breakfast. After breakfast we stood in groups,confirming our decision with great oaths and binding one another tofulfillment--I no less than all the others. Like the others I wasblinded now by the sense of our high purpose and I forgot toconsider what might happen should Ranjoor Singh take any other linethan that expected of him.

I think it was eleven in the morning of the fourth day after ourdecision, when we had all grown weary of threats of vengeance and ofargument as to what each individual man should do to our major'sbody, that there was some small commotion at the entrance gate and aman walked through alone. The gate slammed shut again behind him.

He strode forward to the middle of our compound, stood still, andconfronted us. We stared at him. We gathered round him. We saidnothing.

"Fall in, two deep!" commanded he. And we fell in, two deep, just ashe ordered.

"'Ten-shun!" commanded he. And we stood to attention.

Sahib, he was Ranjoor Singh!

He stood within easy reach of the nearest man, clothed in a newkhaki German uniform. He wore a German saber at his side. Yet Iswear to you the saber was not the reason why no man struck at him.Nor were there Germans near enough to have rescued him. We, whoseoath to murder him still trembled on our lips, stood and faced himwith trembling knees now that he had come at last.

We stood before him like two rows of dumb men, gazing at his face. Ihave heard the English say that our eastern faces are impossible toread, but that can only be because western eyes are blind. We canread them readily enough. Yet we could not read Ranjoor Singh's thatday. It dawned on us as we stared that we did not understand, butthat he did; and there is no murder in that mood.